


trusting things beyond mistake

by iamnassau



Category: The Terror (TV 2018)
Genre: BUT!!!, Dom/sub Undertones, First Time, Fluff and Angst, Gentle Sex, Happy Ending, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Misunderstandings, Overstimulation, Period Typical Attitudes, Porn with Feelings, irving-typical repression self-punishment self-denial etc, ned little king of consent, very slight, working title: john irving's internalized bottomphobia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-30
Updated: 2020-08-30
Packaged: 2021-03-07 01:55:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,102
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26198953
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iamnassau/pseuds/iamnassau
Summary: It all becomes real when he takes his first steady steps into Edward’s cabin. Stupidly he feels more intimidated than he’d imagined in his fantasies- fantasies which he should already know are implausible at best. But they’re the exact reason he’s here, to put them to rest for as long as he possibly can. And with that in mind, he waits with his eyes demurely averted for Edward to make the first move.
Relationships: Lt John Irving/Lt Edward Little
Comments: 17
Kudos: 68





	trusting things beyond mistake

**Author's Note:**

> yet another fic idea which came into my house and unexpectedly stabbed me 23 times
> 
> so. enjoy.

It all becomes real when he takes his first steady steps into Edward’s cabin. Stupidly he feels more intimidated than he’d imagined in his fantasies- fantasies which he should already know are implausible at best. But they’re the exact reason he’s here, to put them to rest for as long as he possibly can. And with that in mind, he waits with his eyes demurely averted for Edward to make the first move.

“Why don’t you take off your coat and sit?” he says mildly, having already done that himself, and John complies without lifting his gaze from the floorboards. He doesn’t want to draw this out any longer than is absolutely necessary, even if a longer encounter might ward him off most effectively. He doesn’t mean to think unkindly of Edward. Just to guard himself from idolatry. 

He hangs up his coat and moves toward the bed. The cabin is fine as far as space and comfort go, and John notes with little real interest that the bed pallet is thicker than his. Then he feels a warm hand on his where it was dropped at his side, and his eyes flick upward as he realizes that he’s still standing in front of Edward, almost between his knees, rather than sitting as he was told. “Apologies. I seem to be lost in fancy.” But the look on Edward’s face belies more amusement or perhaps concern than annoyance. He sits beside him, close enough to touch, anyway.

“That’s alright. Are you still-”

“Yes.”

“If this idea were to become less than agreeable to you, you would stop me?”

“Yes, but I won’t,” he says quickly, almost a snap. He would rather not have this conversation where it is clear how weak Edward believes him to be. He rights himself. “I mean to say, I suggested this because I am agreeable.”

Edward stares at him, frowning in that endearing way of his, and he forgets to look away. “And if that changes?”

John struggles to find the right answer, or rather, the one that he wants to hear. “I would tell you,” he recites, relieved when Edward’s demeanor softens. Just to approach him in the empty wardroom and give the most minimal offer was difficult, even more with the pleasantly surprised look that spread over the other man’s face. This, trying to negotiate such a perversion that he’s already guilty of in thought, is impossible. His insufferable imagination has produced such romance in this, that he felt the need to prove it wrong. These meetings between men, he knows, are not rooted in affection or anything he’s coveted from Edward for the length of this affliction. More arising from necessity- animosity, even- a channel for violence and need. For Edward to try and soften it for him is only making it worse.

“Well then,” he exhales quietly, turns toward John and begins to unbutton his waistcoat, bringing his cheek to John’s in some mimicry of dance partners, breath hot against his ear. He shivers and hopes that it’s from apprehension rather than desire. Edward pulls his shirt out of his trousers with a delicate touch. “I’ve thought of this.”

He allows himself this bit of honesty, knowing that he may never get another chance. “So have I.” Edward’s breathing hitches, and he turns his head to kiss John’s neck, chaste and sweet as anything. It kills him. It makes him hope for things he’ll never be allowed. He wants badly to ask Edward to be kind and let him be, or to push through this perfunctory intimacy to what he really wants. But his mind burns with a different question as he doubts how much of this he can handle, what he will think of both of them after this is done. “I- Edward?” It feels wicked, using his Christian name like he has any claim to it.

“Yes?” He pulls away from the trail of kisses leading down to John’s cravat, but his hands continue roaming below. The attention makes him squirm.

“It hurts badly, doesn’t it?”

His brows furrow, and he blinks, parsing John’s meaning at an agonizingly slow pace, and flushing when it comes to him. “No. No, it doesn’t hurt very badly at all. Are- What makes you say that?” John doesn’t answer, because how can he? He knows it. Edward looks even more puzzled, perturbed even. Of course it was a mistake to ask such a question when he already knows the answer, no matter the response he got. “John, I don’t know who… Well, I won’t hurt you. I won’t. We could switch positions, if you’d like. Or try something else.” He shakes his head quickly, but not with so much feeling so as to betray any preference. He has to do it like this, to be properly freed of his want. And because some twisted part of him enjoys the idea: lying beneath Edward and letting him in despite the humiliation of it.

“No, I want it like this. I haven’t ever-” He stops, but it’s too late. Edward searches his face and seems to find the meaning before he’s been able to acknowledge it himself. “I do not mean to have you indulge me for that.”

He huffs a laugh. “Indulge you? That has been exactly my intention from the start.”

John stands, unexpectedly swamped by conviction and conflict in equal measure. “There is no point!” he hisses, fists clenched at side, then much less steadily as he sits (further away), remembering himself, “There is no point. Why should you?”

Edward’s eyes are dark and sober then in the low candlelight. “I hold you in deep regards. And even if we had no ties of relation, there is no pleasure in disrespecting a- a partner. Did you expect me to dab you about? Is this about our ranks?” With any other inflection, it would sound a mockery of John’s assumptions, but his voice is almost fraught, rife with worry.

“No, no, no, it isn’t… I hadn’t…” He doesn’t know what he can say that would soothe the obvious distress in him. Sweet Edward, worried that he is abusing his authority when John approached him. “It’s about men.”

“Men,” he repeats absently.

‘Yes, the ways of men. And when… two men are intimate.” Edward nods, although his puzzlement is clear. “They are rarely courteous with women; I cannot imagine any absence of violence between men. And as one must play a woman’s role, how can I- how can that man not be treated with discourtesy for such… for willingly accepting such indignity.” He finishes less strongly than he would have hoped, and Edward swallows, brows still bunched. He should have just returned the kisses and stayed quiet, enjoy it while he could. Why he’s instead debating the etiquette of sodomy, he hardly knows.

“I understand why you would think that,” Edward says slowly after a moment’s pause. “Some may see it that way. But any man worth acquainting oneself with would never be so cruel. There’s no indignity in it. And there are other activities if neither man would like to play that part.” Hearing all of this, John comes to belatedly realize how many men he’s likely met with before, and feels a pit growing in his stomach. He doesn’t know how he’d measure up anyhow. “There is genuine want beyond any necessity, and- and I assure you, there can be love in this.” Tears spring to his eyes at that. He doesn’t deserve to hope. “Come here?”

He scoots closer, and Edward pushes his waistcoat from his shoulders, kissing the corners of his mouth. John closes his eyes as the hands on his chest move down toward the waist of his trousers. They linger at the fly front.

“I want to put my mouth on you. Would you allow me that?” A shock runs up his spine, and the bit of arousal that had arisen previously- despite his misgivings- returns. He nods in agreement immediately. Edward gently tugs him to the center of the mattress and unlaces both of their shoes, dropping them to the floor before returning to work on the buttons of John’s trousers. They open easily so that he can discard the garment and leave John more exposed to his gaze. His long shirt allows him some vestige of decency that he clings to, even as Edward shoulders his way into kneeling between his thighs. It’s strange, how small he looks curled in on himself to fit comfortably. 

Lifting his legs to give the other man room is a mistake which results in the shirt riding up until it’s no longer covering anything. Now he’s unable to look away. Edward plucks his shirttails up and away from the center of his interest, but he makes no move to slip his shirt off as well. It’s a relief with how nervous he is, still wondering if there won’t be later consequences he’ll have to pay for allowing this now.

“What are you doing now?” he asks, closing his eyes when he sees Edward lean in close and hover there without touching.

“Admiring.” He says it absently, shifts, and drags his hands up John’s thighs. Then onto his hips, moving back up to his shoulders and biceps. “You’ve tension here.”

He wants to snap that of course he does. He still doesn’t know what Edward wants from him, and this is a situation previously unknown to him as well. But instead he hums as Edward massages points of tightness that he suddenly realizes were built and solidified long before tonight. It feels good, and the pressure is light, casual almost. Returning to the muscles in his thighs, Edward spreads him out even further with every movement, down, down until his hands rest at the crease of John’s hip. One trails inward to the base of his prick, and his breath catches. 

He cracks one eye open just in time to see Edward dip down and ghost his warm lips up the underside of it. Embarrassingly, that’s enough to start him shaking.

“Easy,” Edward murmurs against him, tilts his wrist so as to lift John’s hardening length from his stomach. He doesn’t know what emotion has taken hold of him, whether panic or exhilaration. And he doesn’t get the chance to find out before Edward’s mouth is sinking down and suckling on the head of his cock. He can’t help whimpering. John’s hand shoots out to rest on top of his head, mussing his hair as it slides uselessly there with Edward’s movements. The other hand goes up to his mouth, knuckles pressed tight against his lips.

He takes John in deep, slowly working up to touch where his fingers are still wrapped around him. He twists his wrist at random intervals, John thinks probably to shock him into noise, because that’s what it does. He’s helpless to stop the quiet, tremulous sounds escaping him. And Edward keeps going, humming around his cock and and pulling off to lap at the tip where he’s so sensitive. His hips jutter every time in an aborted thrust back up and into his hot mouth.

“Hold on, stop,” John gasps, barely able to get it out. Edward does, pausing in his ministrations to look at him. He keeps his eyes shut tight, mortified. “I’m going to… finish.”

“I know. That’s the purpose of this.”

Now he does look- in confusion. “I’m not supposed to,” he says, sounding petulant to his own ears.

“Yes, you are. You are supposed to.” John is hesitant to believe him, and he’s certain it shows on his face. Edward looks him over, then inhales sharply, his eyes alight with understanding. “I’ll make you. Is that better?”

John has to bite his knuckles to keep from moaning aloud, and he nods emphatically. Yes, Edward is going to make John spend despite any warning or protest (which he already knows he won’t be able to muster up) because he wants him to.

So he doubles down on his efforts, swirling his tongue and flattening it even as John shudders and jerks ineffectually beneath him. 

“I- Can I?” He just barely grits it out, and when Edward pulls off, he thumbs at the head to keep John incapacitated.

“In my mouth.” John whines at that. “Please.”

“Yes, yes, I will,” he says, making a wounded noise as Edward sucks him in again. “I will, I will.” It only takes a few more moments for his stomach to go tight, his hand to clench in Edward’s hair as he’s swallowing around John’s cock. He throws his head back with a low moan, lost then, his heels digging into the bed linens. Edward works him through it until he’s little more than a twitching puddle of snowmelt. 

Then he crawls up to mold himself to John’s side, smiling at what would be a sight to anyone on this ship: John Irving, lax and tranquil.

It takes him a long while to remember what his original concern was, and another stretch to articulate it. “What… what about the other part?”

“If you still want to, this will have made it easier. More comfortable for you.” He hardly finishes the sentence before John is nodding in agreement. The idea that he might get more of Edward, more to selfishly keep in memory, certainly gives him little choice but to do so. Edward briefly rolls away from him to reach for a vial on his night stand.

“What is that?”

He initially turns to look at John like he’s grown a second head, then eases. “Oil, to help open you up.” 

John shudders at that, but still has a mind to be shocked beyond the arousal. “There’s product to aid sodomy?”

Edward flushes. “I mostly use it for my hands.” 

He’s not sure if he believes that, but also figures that it matters little. Just that there is something to smooth the way is a great relief. Then Edward fills his vision where he still lay prone on the bed, noses at his jaw. John urges him up for a kiss, and he obliges, fitting their mouths together pointedly so that John, who’s made it all too plain how clueless he is about such things, can follow his lead. Edward worries at his bottom lip before licking into his mouth, and has cast such a firm grip over John that he nearly forgets to breathe. He’s never been kissed. Not with so much fervor, not with the bitter taste of himself still lingering on his partner’s tongue, or in any manner otherwise. Before he knows it, he’s hard again. More surprisingly, he doesn’t feel soiled for enjoying it. For anyone to revel in being the focus of such passion strikes him as natural.

The quiet noise of a stopper being pulled and a whiff of sweet orange isn’t enough to break through his nearly meditative state, but the other man pulling away from him is. “I’ll start preparing you now,” Edward says, stilted and almost like a question. John nods in case he wants permission. He doesn’t pay attention to any movements beyond Edward leaning forward to kiss him again, and so is caught unawares by the slicked fingers trailing past his prick, then the pressure of one swiftly breaching him. He makes a noise into Edward’s mouth, glad for the distraction and his expediency. But he’s soon overwhelmed and lets his head drop back onto the pillow as the strange sensation increases. Edward searches his face with a keen eye, most likely only finding scepticism. This doesn’t seem so much a painful intrusion, but rather ambivalent, if there ever was one. “Don’t fret. It gets better.” John carefully does not tell him how much worse he thought it would be, that this is a vast improvement upon his fantasies already.

Edward tucks a second finger in next to the first, easier than John would have imagined, although he has to sit up to get a better angle. As he pushes deeper, the pad of his thumb presses against the skin above, and John yelps as a dulled pleasure has his prick twitching again. To his outrage, Edward smiles politely as though he’d expected that precise reaction. He flexes the fingers inside John to loosen him, and there are points where the same pleasant ache, now magnified, bears down on him and renders him helpless. He tries to bring his knees up to conceal his leaking and allow him respite, but it only serves to give Edward more room. By the time a third digit is introduced, John has a limp hold on his wrist, not certain himself whether it’s encouragement or warning.

After an eternity, he pauses, gently withdraws. “Do you feel alright?” John still retains enough awareness to snort, but not enough to respond other than squeezing what bit of Edward’s hand is visible to him. This (comparatively chaste) act seems to rattle Edward more than anything else. “Well… tell me. If you wind up feeling differently in the midst of it,” he says sheepishly. John is coming to understand that these questions are not signs of uncertainty about his dedication, but signs of concern on his behalf. And perhaps, if Edward’s imploring look is anything to go by, a bit of self-consciousness.

He is still dressed, appropriate for leisure without his coat and shoes, but now he unbuttons his trousers and pushes them down to his thighs. John’s eyes wander briefly before he catches himself and returns his gaze to the creaking planks above. Edward clears his throat in the quiet, arranging John’s legs with great care and reaching once more for the vial of oil. “Ready?”

He tilts his chin down just far enough to find the other man’s shoulders curled in again despite the lack of necessity, and the sheets facing Edward’s intense scrutiny. John sits up, presses a hand to his chest. “Wait. Are you alright then?” It comes out more abruptly than he would like, but he hopes his face conveys what his tone fails to. As Edward has toiled to make sure of his well-being, it’s only right to attend to him just the same. 

“Yes, I am.” His voice is level, and when he lifts his head up, the mist has cleared. Seemingly finished with whatever previous fixation held his attention, John has a mind to be jealous of the thoughts occupying his head until he recalls how often he’s been absent tonight. And then he wonders if Edward hasn’t had similar thoughts when  _ he’s _ been lost in fancy. That there may be another on his mind. 

The thought leaves a bitter taste in his mouth, and he allows himself to look his fill before pressing a quick kiss to Edward’s lips. He leans back on his elbows, catching an expression on the other man’s face, similar to the shy, disbelieving look he was treated to in the empty wardroom when John first approached him. He prickles; Edward should know that he would never have propositioned anyone else- even if his initial expectations were not meant to be gratifying. “Go on,” he murmurs with falsely-summoned courage and a curt nod. He still starts at the feeling of Edward’s length against his hip with a slight change in position. 

Edward nods back, and John very nearly laughs at how he steels himself- would have- were it not for Edward urgently bringing a slick fist down to work over his own prick. The other arm steadies him where he leans over John. John’s mouth goes dry, and just for now, he stares unabashedly in silence. He thinks he’s reached a new low, envy of Edward’s hand spiking in him before it settles as anticipation, knowing that he’ll soon do it one better. 

“Right then,” Edward says to himself, then promptly sighs, posture sagging. “I’ve forgotten.” He shifts to lay flat on the bed and reach the storage space beneath, which freezes John in place as the fabric of Edward’s vest brushes against his skin. Unsurprisingly, he is quite sensitive. Edward’s shaggy head lifts victorious, a second pillow in hand, which he slips under John with little difficulty. 

John silently wills Edward to look up and see how impatient he’s become, but it doesn’t work. To his credit, after the long wait, he doesn’t hesitate to line himself up now. They’re both trembling a bit, John notices, before Edward presses in for the first time. He screws his eyes shut as pressure mounts inside him with the slow dragging pace only intensifying it. Still, before he knows it, Edward’s hips are flush to him, and he opens one eye a crack, breathing gone ragged. This just in time to see Edward take his prick in hand and begin idly stroking as if for his own comfort.

With increasing panic, John struggles to summon words, bats his hand away. “Don’t. Don’t!” Edward draws away as if burned. “Don’t move yet,  _ please _ ,” he says in a more beseeching tone than he believed himself capable of.

“I won’t. Is it painful?” Edward looks stricken, thinking he may have hurt John, but the truth is far more embarrassing. He tries to slowly withdraw, but John holds him there, pawing at his chest ineffectually.

“ _ Don’t move _ . If you move, I’m going to finish, oh God,” he manages before he covers his mouth, shaking and nearly to the point of tears. It’s like he’s being held on the edge, and one wrong move could send him flying over.

Edward, for his part, remains still, sporting a deep pink flush that spreads down below his collar. His eyes are wide, curious. But despite the urge to see if it’s true that must overwhelm him, he obediently waits for John to get a hold of himself again. “Is that better?” he asks after a long pause, low and indecent in a manner John has never heard before. But he nods, finally able to shift on the bed without his toes curling. Edward practically blankets him like this, hands on either side of his shoulders. 

With permission now, he gives a few shallow thrusts that still manage to have John doubting how long he’s going to last. But luckily, Edward looks to be having similar internal conflict, gritting his teeth against noises already. John clings to him, face nestled in the crook of his neck to muffle himself. The feeling of someone- Edward- buried inside him is strange, but he finds he enjoys it more than anything else so far. The occasional flashes of all-consuming bliss, the thought of being filled, the practiced way Edward hauls him down the bed back onto his cock, all combine to drive the previous trepidation from his mind.

“Fuck, fuck,  _ please _ .” He’s well on his way to losing grip of rational thought and sure he’s being louder than he should be. But fortunately, Edward kisses him quiet, and he is spared any more embarrassment than absolutely necessary. 

When he pulls back, it’s to set his teeth against John’s throat, laving over his pulse. It should feel proprietary, just the idea that he could leave a mark if he wanted to. But John knows he won’t, that it’s meant tenderly. Edward trails up to his jawline, nuzzles there. “Never thought I’d hear you talk like that,” he says softly into John’s ear, his breath coming fast and catching with every rock of his hips. “What else would you have me do? I will, anything.” This time, his voice is as clear and solid as he can manage, and he tilts his head to look at John with such intensity that he nearly shrinks from it.

John speaks with more timidity: “This, I only want this.” Then he curses his forsaken honesty for betraying him, even if it’s given temporary reason for Edward’s brows to unfurrow. 

After that, his pace is hard, but not punishing, and it drives the breath out of John. He curses the decision not to remove his shirt beforehand, feeling Edward’s warm weight pinning him and keenly wishing the layers between them would vanish without having to part from that comfort. As it is, he clings on with no intention of letting go. There are some hitches in the rhythm when Edward must reposition himself, and each time it seems he reaches deeper. Eventually, he sits back on his heels to get a better angle, leaving John’s hands to fall from his back and to clutch uselessly at his forearms instead. But the next thrust leaves him biting his own knuckles anyway. He tenses as if struck by lightning.

“There?” John nods, and a rare, pleased smile grows on his face, glowing with sweat. Edward arranges John’s legs around his waist and rolls both of them forward, lifting his hips- which, if he was capable of it, John would find very considerate. The angle stays the same, and they can also kiss. He tries pushing in again with this approach and gets another tormented noise in response. “There?” he asks again in an incredulous, breathless laugh. Hopefully it’s rhetorical. Edward must know he won’t get an answer this time, at least not a direct one. John is shamefully loud now, but is hushed when their foreheads touch, letting out only a weak moan as Edward breathes into his mouth. Their wetted lips meet again and again, in short, delicate brushes. It’s perfect: without fever or desperation. When he feels Edward’s hand wrap around his prick, he’s hardly able to gasp for fear of breaking the fragile air between them.

Edward, he remembers, wants him to finish. He’s supposed to. And it seems easier here, John thrashing beneath him without words or guidance or restrictions. He squeezes his eyes shut, the filthy sound of his own slick and whatever’s left of the oil on Edward’s hand as he works John over is too much for him to bear. His hips jerk unbidden, but otherwise he doesn’t dare move, trusting (perhaps too much) that Edward will know what he needs. 

But he does. His strokes are clumsy, and John’s nerves are still raw, but just the weight of his hand is enough to have him unraveling. This time, he refrains from asking permission, if only because he’s lost the ability to. He rests his face against Edward’s neck and with a few more well-timed thrusts, John can feel himself shaking apart. 

He spills with a stifled whimper over Edward’s fingers and his own stomach, some of it catching his shirt- rucked up to his chest with all their movement. It trembles through him for longer than he’d thought possible, heady and all-consuming. Then he falls back onto the bed, body slack, almost certainly with a vacuous look on his face. 

Edward, when he feels that the aftershock is through, pulls out and leaves him empty. But as he works toward his own end, John forgets to mourn the loss and instead focuses on Edward’s fist, covered in John’s spend and flying over his prick. He wishes he had the dexterity to help him at the moment, but all he’s capable of is watching, cataloguing every reaction, as Edward chokes back a moan and adds to the mess on his stomach. 

Even after they’re both completely spent, he remains leaning above John, boxing him in. Keeping him safe, he thinks. But eventually his arms must get tired, and Edward rolls to the side, then off the mattress to retrieve a towel from his washbasin. He dampens it and cleans his hand on the way back before using it to wipe down John’s stomach as well. How they’re supposed to behave now that they’ve shared such a thing, he doesn’t know. Or rather, how Edward would like him to act. 

He works quickly and casually at the small spots on John’s shirt, a faint smile in place. It seems to fade a little as Edward looks up at his face. John meets his eyes with some apprehension, but his gaze is soft, pensive. “Why did you come to me for this if you expected such a violent deed as you described?” John is startled by his voice, and when the question registers, he isn’t confident he’ll be able to answer.

“It was selfish,” he manages, exhaling heavily as Edward folds his shirt back down, smooths it. “I wanted to relieve myself of the feelings I had about you.” The other man pauses in his ministrations. “I thought if you were cruel to me in the way that I believed all men would be, I would associate you with that more heavily than-” John stops, turns on his side and away from him. He realizes just as he says it how stupid it all was. More than anything, he isn’t certain that it would have worked anyway, had Edward been as he expected. “I’m sorry. For wishing to think poorly of you.”

Edward considers this for a while, or at least, seems to with the silence. John can’t see his face. “And are you,” he starts after a beat, quiet. “Relieved of your feelings?”

He stubbornly blinks back tears. “No.” 

Behind him, Edward slowly molds himself to the line of John’s body, reaching under and around him so his hands are linked over the center of John’s stomach. “Then come back, won’t you?” he asks- no,  _ begs _ in a whisper. John leans back into him and lets himself weep. He cries because despite the sweat and oil that still clings to him, he feels clean. Edward kisses tenderly behind his ear, at the base of his neck, and waits patiently for an answer, for him to pull himself together, perhaps.

“Yes. I- I will. I promise.” He puts one hand over where Edward’s lay, and squeezes. 

When he leaves, Edward discreetly fusses over his buttons to prolong their time, and John stares at him openly, delighted by the obvious drawing out of this. When Edward leans in to kiss him once more, he hesitates so that John must close the distance.

“Be kind to yourself the next few days,” he mutters when they part, embarrassed. “You might be sore.” John nods; he can already feel it. “And, well- I- bleeding hell. When do you think you’ll come around again?” He asks this uncertainly as if John hasn’t planned ten different convenient excuses for them to disappear together, as if their cabins aren’t a door apart.

“Soon. I’ll come knocking,” John assures him as he steps back. “Good night, Edward.”

He shakes his head with an incredulous smile. “Good night, John.”

**Author's Note:**

> and then they gave up on the expedition and turned around and ned and john moved in together.
> 
> thanks for reading!!


End file.
